Yaqob Uriel Dysnomia

The Conjuring of Platelette;

The Conjuring of Platelette A Damascus bladed knife, long ago folded upon itself over seven million times in a sacred forge, tumbles end over end across a vast kitchen towards an industrial freezer. The surgically sharp blade parts the air before it in a deafening crack, thwapping deeply into thick steel with a heavy, thudding, skint. Through neither the sonic boom, nor the vulgar penetration following it, did one single molecule of the blade yield by the distance of even one micrometer. As the blade pierced solid metal, the silver pommel of the knife's rosewood handle was given a sharp boost at the tail end of the deafening cry that sailed across the room with it: a string of violent syllables, “WHERE IS MY LAMB SAUCE!?”